


Order up

by snarled_musings



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism, slight D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 15:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarled_musings/pseuds/snarled_musings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Mr. Reese?” Finch's voice was still warm with amusement, but it had gone deeper, softer. “I do believe something might be up right now. Am I right?” </p><p>John really wanted to deny it, but when Finch did that with his voice John was a goner. Whenever Finch sounded like that he could ask anything and John would give it. He blushed as he cleared his throat.</p><p> </p><p>Reese waits for help, Harold keeps him company</p>
            </blockquote>





	Order up

**Author's Note:**

> This might be my OTP, I'm ridiculously in love with it. Besides that, POI really just begs for as much exhibitionism as possible...

This wasn't turning out to be an ideal day. He'd followed the number around all day, convinced the guy was the target. They'd been wrong, he was the perp. Luckily John had intercepted him in his apartment; unluckily the guy had been armed. He wasn't anymore, but his knife was currently stuck in John's left thigh. He gritted his teeth and pulled it out, removing his belt to use as a makeshift tourniquet. He wasn't bleeding too heavily, so no major artery was damaged. It would still hurt like hell to walk for a couple of weeks. He gave a soft groan as he drew the tourniquet tight.

 

”John, are you there? Are you okay? John?” Finch's usually dry voice was concerned. John might even stretch it and believe Finch sounded anxious.

 

”I'm here Finch, I'm all right. Just a minor scuffle with our number. Who wasn't in any danger, by the way, he _was_ the danger. Please note the past tense.”

 

”I'm assuming he's no longer a threat. Did you kill him, Mr. Reese?”

 

John gave a short laugh. ”I promised Carter I'd try to keep the body count down for a while now. He's alive, but he'll have one hell of a headache when he wakes up.” He shifted, drawing a breath between clenched teeth. ”Speaking of Carter, it would be great if you could get hold of her. I'd appreciate a hand out of here.”

 

”Are you injured? How serious is it? What can I do, John?” John gave a fierce grin. The anxiety was definitely there and he was sure he'd just gotten a theory confirmed.

 

“I'll live,” he said calmly. “I just need someone to lean on. By the way, I'm on to you, Finch.” His grin widened as he practically could hear Finch's confusion.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“Get Carter, and think back to our conversation about endearments.” John terminated the call and made a bet with himself how long it would be before Finch called him back. He lost; Finch was a full minute faster than he'd counted on. “That was fast.”

 

“I've arranged for your extraction, Mr. Reese. Detective Carter will be there within fifteen minutes. What do you say we spend some time clarifying your previous statement?” There was curiosity in Finch's voice, something John could instill all to seldom. Finch knew him so well, while he was still trying to figure out all Finch's secrets. He suspected it would keep him intrigued and amused for ten more years, minimum. “What did you insinuate?”

 

“I asked what you would call me if you would call me a pet name, and you said, and I quote: 'endearments are just a way to belittle your partner.' But I've figured you out. You have a pet name for me.”

 

“I most certainly do not, Mr. Reese.”

 

“Oh, but there it is again, Finch. You only use my first name either in bed or when you're worried about me. The rest of the time it's 'Mr. Reese'. That's how I know when you're really worried about me. My surname's your endearment for me, when you use my first name I know something's up .” He shifted slightly, pleased with the silence on the other side of the line. Finch was analyzing his statement; while he did so John checked the bleeding. It had subsided and his leg was throbbing dully. The adrenaline was still making his body sing and he shifted restlessly.

 

“If we assume your reasoning's correct, then you're saying I'm worrying for you in bed.” Finch didn't bother to hide the lilt of amusement. It sent a little thrill through John. He shifted again, feeling himself hardening slightly. He cupped himself through his pants, gave a light rub. His breath hitched slightly as he gave a chuckle.

 

“No, but I certainly hope something's up when in bed.” He thrust up into his hand slightly. This was one of those times when his body reacted inappropriately to the post-fight rush of adrenaline. He'd better calm down, it would be embarrassing if Carter arrived to find him hard as a rock. The rough cloth of his pants made a slight scratching sound as it dragged against his palm, against his cock.

 

“Mr. Reese?” Finch's voice was still warm with amusement, but it had gone deeper, softer. “I do believe something might be up right now. Am I right?”

 

John really wanted to deny it, but when Finch did that with his voice John was a goner. Whenever Finch sounded like that he could ask anything and John would give it. He blushed as he cleared his throat.

 

“Um, maybe?” He dragged a finger along the length of his erection and his hips stuttered.

 

“You do know detective Carter's on her way? She'll be there in approximately ten minutes now.” John's head fell back against the wall and he made a small sound of frustration. “I can help you, if you follow my orders.” The voice was velvet over steel. “I know you don't particularly like orders, but I do enjoy giving them on occasion.” There was a hint of trepidation there as well. He realized Finch had just given away a tiny bit of personal information, while making a request at the same time. He'd put himself on the line, showed his hand to John.

 

“I can follow orders, Finch. When it's for a good cause I can even find it...pleasurable.” He swallowed hard. A small twinge of anxiety made his gut clench. No, following orders really wasn't his favorite thing. He wasn't much for giving up control. But Finch had given him so much, he could give him this small thing. He made himself relax. It was surprisingly easy; it was Finch after all. “Talk to me, tell me what you want me to do.”

 

“Open your shirt and use your right hand to tease your nipples. I know you're sensitive there. Give them a pinch and a twist.” John did as told. His fingers fumbled slightly with the buttons, he was a bit unsteady. His fingers trailed over his pecs and a thought struck him.

 

“Am I allowed any room for improvisation?”

 

“What do you mean, Mr. Reese?” John shivered slightly. With that tone of voice it was unbearably erotic to hear Finch's formality. He sounded so perfectly controlled, voice carefully measured.

 

“Am I allowed to touch other parts of myself on the way to the goal? Like now; I'm tracing my skin as I'm heading towards my nipples. Do I have your permission to do so?”

 

Finch's voice dropped an octave as he answered. “That's perfectly all right, Mr. Reese, as long as you don't skip ahead of events. I appreciate how you ask permission.” Oh, he did all right. John could tell by the change of tone. He just might be onto something here. His fingers reached their target. He dug his nails in lightly as he twisted his nipples. A small sound escaped him. “I believe you found your prize?”

 

John shifted his hips; gave a slow roll. If he'd been hard before it was nothing compared to now. He tugged a bit harder on the sensitive nubs, and his head fell back. “Indeed I did. Oh Finch, I wish you could see me.” The words were out his mouth before he could think about them.

 

“Exhibitionism, Mr. Reese? Tired of hiding? I didn't peg you for that penchant.” Finch's voice was a throaty purr shooting straight to his cock. Honestly he'd surprised himself as well. Never before had he seen the point in doing something so intimate as a performance. But he was doing this as much for Finch as for himself, and it felt unfair that Finch wouldn't see the pleasure he derived from it. “Can you stand and head over to the computer?” John looked up. The laptop still sat at the desk, undamaged from the earlier fight. He smirked as he got to his feet. A small groan of pain escaped him as he shifted his weight to his damaged leg and limped over to the chair. He sprawled in it, stretching his leg out. It throbbed dully again, but pleasure was still singing through him, making the pain an almost an erotic counterpoint.

 

“Can you see me?”

 

“Always; I just have to close my eyes.” Affection washed over John at the admittance. He gave a lazy smile. “But I assume you're wondering if I have a clear picture right now, which I do.”

 

“How should I position myself?” John glanced up at the web-cam from under lowered lashes. He wasn't above playing dirty; he'd begun learning what had Finch running hot. He gave a slow smile as he rolled his hips. Finch made a muted sound, which might have been a moan.

 

“You look quite perfect like that. Maybe we should stop dawdling; the detective should be there within five minutes. Run your fingers down your abdomen. I want to see you trace your musculature.” Finch voice had gone slightly harsh with lust, John heard him draw a shaky breath as he ran his fingers over his abs. He groaned, head falling back again to bare his throat.

 

Finch answered his groan. “I love that look of supplication on you, Mr. Reese.” His voice dropped to a whisper, almost painfully intimate. “It makes me want to put a collar on you. The thought of a strip of black leather accentuating your throat... Oh, it's almost too much.”

 

“Finch, please, let me touch myself.” John's fingers trembled as he traced the lining of his slacks, toying with the button. The image Finch painted made something low in his belly draw tight with want. He didn't know why; part of it was absolutely the clear allure it held for Finch. “What would you do if I put on a collar?” He burned with the need to know.

 

“You may touch yourself through your slacks. There's no time for clean-up, so we'd better contain the mess.”

 

“You want me to come in my pants?” He gave a minute smirk. “It's been ages since I did that.”

 

“No time like the present, Mr. Reese.” John took the comment for the encouragement it was and dragged a rough hand over his hard cock. His eyes fluttered close as his hips stuttered up into his own touch. “I'd love to see you on your knees before me, dressed only in that collar. To bury myself in your warm, wet mouth, to watch you do that thing when you roll your eyes up to meet my gaze. I'd love to know that you're willing to give all your strength and control to me, to trust me to use you in a way that gives us both maximum pleasure.” John's hand sped up as he grasped himself through the cloth of his pants. He was achingly, blindingly hard. He thrust into his hand, grimacing slightly as he ground himself hard into the touch.

 

“I think I'd like that, Finch. I don't know why; but the way you say it...” He didn't even try to contain the moan as he drew nearer to climax. “I'm so close.” He could feel a trickle of sweat tickle his temple; another beaded his ribs. He was _incredibly_ close, that shining edge just a few touches beyond his reach. He could ride that crest in mere seconds, but something was missing. The fantasy Finch had painted demanded something more of him, just some last finishing touch to be completely. His hand was rubbing frantically over his cock and he gritted his teeth before biting his lower lip hard.

 

“How are we doing, Mr Reese? I think we'd either wrap this up or abort the mission. The detective's car is pulling up outside the building as we speak.” Finch's voice shook with strain, John had no illusion he was touching himself as well. And just like that he knew what was missing to send him over the edge.

 

“Please Finch, may I come? Give me permission to come.” His voice was rough, pleading. He heard Finch gasp, a harsh sound as he found release. He sounded almost broken as he ground out:

 

“Come for me, Mr. Reese, you have my permission.” John's hips lifted out of the chair as he thrust once, twice, hard, before falling over the edge. His leg protested violently, but the pain was still nothing compared to the pleasure searing him. He gave a muted cry as he spurted in his pants, coming hard enough that he was in danger of whiting out. With a last twitch he fell back in the chair, head back, legs spread wide, arms dangling limply. His chest heaved as he tried to draw breath, spots dancing in front of his eyes.

 

“That was... intense.” He shifted slightly and grimaced at the mess in his pants. “Last time this happened I was in my teens. The coming in my pants, I mean. The other parts has never happened before.” He glanced at the camera. This time his small smile was soft, intimate. “I think I'd like it to happen again. Preferably when I'm not nursing knife wounds.”

 

“Wrecked is a good look on you, Mr. Reese. But you might consider buttoning your shirt, at least. Detective Carter's just down the hallway.”

 

“Shit!” John fumbled blindly, trying to get his shirt in place. His fingers were still shaking from the intensity of his orgasm; as he touched his own skin an aftershock made him moan. He managed to get himself in reasonable order.

 

“Looking much better now, even though I must say it's probably lucky you have a fight to blame for your flushed and mussed state. Get back here so I can patch you up.”

 

“Will do, Finch.” He gave a minute grin just as the door opened. Carter looked around her, eyes going wide as she took in his disheveled state.

 

“Wow. I don't think I've ever seen you in this state after a fight, John.” It was funny how it only was painfully intimate to hear Finch use his first name. He struggled to his feet with Carter's help, leaning on her as he limped out. He glanced in the hallway mirror and his eyes grew wide. His hair was a mess, and he instinctively reached up to smooth the sweat-matted strands. A sharp blush stained his cheek bones and his lips were slightly swollen. He looked... fucked-out was probably the best description. He shoved his shirt tails into the lining of his pants properly, the blush deepening as he felt the sticky mess in his pants with every step he took.

 

“Well, you should see the other guy.” An intimate chuckle echoed in his ear.

 

“Indeed you're right, John.”

 

 


End file.
